Martin, pi
by robspace54
Summary: Doc Martin goes on a voyage landing him in a strange place, where only he can solve the mystery of why he is there.
1. Chapter 1

A Knock on the Head

It was an evening like any other or so I thought. At least it began that way. I do remember a horrible noise, the Lexus swerved, and then the airbag burst into my face. Stunned in a cloud of sodium azide smoke the airbag had vented, I was extremely disoriented. The door was pried open and the concerned face of Mrs. Tishell peered in at me.

"You all right, Doctor Ellingham?" she asked.

I coughed. "Don't know what happened!" My head felt like a cricket bat had contacted my cranium. "God, my head!" More coughs arose due to the dusty smoke.

"You just stay there. I'll call for an ambulance." I was expecting her to lift a mobile to her face, but instead she lifted a black radio and spoke into it. "This is Tishell on the North Moor Road, past the Morris farm, and we'd have had an auto accident. It's …"

"No, I'm ok! No ambulance!" I grabbed her arm. "Stop! This will pass." I took my pulse, a bit fast, but that's expected after an auto crash. I released the safety harness and climbed from the car.

"Well, you're sure you feel alright?" she asked.

"Yes, if you could just give me a ride home…"

She looked concerned. "If you're sure."

"Yes, of course!" I shrugged off her supporting arm and took a good look at her. Her hair was longer and pulled back. She was wearing a white shirt with black epaulets, black trousers, and heavy police belt. I saw her return the radio to the holster, arrayed with other bits of police gear. Just then a wave of dizziness struck me and I wavered.

"Oh, watch it there doctor!" She steadied me with both hands. "Come on; let's get you to the Bedford."

"My bag, can you get it?"

"Right! Into the car, now. I'll get your bag in a minute." She walked me to the car as the world whirled about me. She settled me into the front seat and clicked the safety belt in place. "Stay," she commanded.

I watched as she went to my Lexus, poor car bashed once again, and retrieved my medical bag. The silver car was wound around a roadside boulder like teenage lovers in the heat of passion. The insurance company would not be at all happy.

As Mrs. Tishell came back to the Bedford, I was trying to decipher why she was wearing a constable's garb. Perhaps she had a costume party to go to later. And why was she driving Penhale's vehicle? I was too muddled just then to sort it out.

The door slammed. "Now, doctor," she went on, "you just sit there nice and quiet and I'll get you home."

I followed her advice as my headache reached a new summit.

I heard her mutter, "Looks like one-half of the dynamic duo is down for count! Never thought I'd see the day Sally, that Doctor Martin crashes his car, twice in one week."

I closed my eyes and must have dozed.

"Here we are doctor! Safe and sound!"

I looked up and we were outside the surgery on Rosscarrock Hill. The sun was setting in the autumn sky, much later than it had been before. I fumbled with the door handle as Mrs. Tishell came and opened the door.

"Sure you don't want to go into Wadebridge or up to Truro to get checked out? I'd take you; just have to call for backup while I'm gone."

"No." I said firmly. "I'll just lie down, be right as rain in the morning."

"Alright, doctor! You call if you have any difficulties, right!"

I gave her a feeble wave, more of disgust than anything else. I managed to open the front door, drop the bag on the floor, and wearily made for the stairs. Stumbling into the lav, I gulped down two paracetamols, stripped off and tumbled onto the bed. I lay there as the room spun, and my headache rose, until all was darkness.

-x-

I was awakened by fishing boats starting their engines; loud diesel bangs echoing from the harbor. All I could do was lay there for a few minutes. I took stock. I was in my boxers, shirt and socks, my suit a crumpled mass on the floor and my head still hurt. My face stung in spots and my chest, neck, and knees felt sore.

"Damn Martin," I said aloud. "Another car crash. And that was a hell of a knock on the head too." I groaned. I probably should have let Mrs. Tishell take me to hospital. Likely a bit concussed as your brains sloshed up against your cranium.

My alarm clock read six AM. Almost time to get up. After a few minutes more I levered myself upright and made it to the bathroom tripping over my shoes I'd left strewn along the hall

After I used the toilet, I stared at my face in the mirror. Eyes seemed unremarkable, but my left eye's schlera - the white of the eye - was minorly bloodshot. I suppose getting hit in the face by a mass of fabric traveling well over a hundred miles per hour will do that to you. There was also an abrasion on my cheek and chin. Must have had my head turned a bit from the direction of travel when the airbag went off.

I showered, feeling some of the headache and muscle soreness wash off with the sweat. But my rib cage felt tight from where the seat harness had restrained me in the crash. I also had a bruise over my right clavicle and both knees were slightly bruised from striking the instrument panel.

Martin, you've really done it this time. Still no idea what caused the crash? No, not a scintilla of a thought. Just the noise, the swerve, the big thump. At least that as much as I could recall. I downed two more paracetamol tablets. No alcohol for you old son, not that you touch the stuff, generally.

I then shaved and dressed, putting the crumpled suit into the bag for the cleaners. It smelled of the airbag residue. I'll likely be coughing for a while yet, feeling that well known powdery feeling in my throat; like eating a moth. I managed to dress, although my sore chest muscles made tying the tie a tussle.

Breakfast made me feel better; eggs, toast, and coffee went down fine. As my blood sugar levels rose and the analgesics kicked in, my headache subsided. Perfect. Now I could _pretend_ to be interested in my patients' tale of woe, pain, and discomfort.

I was rinsing the plate and frying pan when I heard the front door lock turn and the door open. My watch read almost nine, so my secretary / office assistant / clerk / main pain had arrived. I went through to my surgery and washed my hands with disinfectant.

From the waiting room I could hear the creak of the desk chair, banging of a desk drawer, and the whirring of the computer fans as it started.

I took a deep breath and marched through to confront my headstrong secretary. She was in the chair, bending over messing with a shoe or something, mostly hidden behind the desk. I went to the files, pulled open the top drawer, and took out the plastic box in which every night we stage the patient records for the next morning.

"How many patients today?" I asked staring at the catci on the top of the cabinet.

"Twenty-two," was the muffled answer.

The voice sounded odd. The figure in the chair rose up, dressed in the usual eclectic and flouncy fashion that was uniquely my clerk. Her dark brown hair, grey eyes, and pale face looked up at me.

My God! "Louisa! What are you doing here?" This made no sense!

"What?"

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the school?"

"School?" she said and cracked chewing gum. "Why I haven't been in school for…"

"No!" I yelled. "Not in school, teaching school!"

"Me, teach school? You're daft doc. Right lot of good you'd be to the village of Port Ismay if you've gone Bodmin!"

"LOUISA! I have not gone Bodmin! Believe me! And where the bloody hell is Port Ismay?"

"Port Ismay, doc. It's here, right here, in Cornwall; where it's always been."

Not Port Wenn? "This must be some sort of joke. Right? Now what are YOU DOING HERE!"

"I work here!" she sniffed. "Unless you're planning on firing me…"

This was insane. "Louisa. Tell me straight, what are you doing here?"

"Now that's a fine how-de-do, doc, considering I been working for you since Elaine left!"


	2. Chapter 2

Louisa

"It's not possible!"

"Oh? It's not impossible. You want coffee?" Louisa picked up an orange mug and waltzed past me into the kitchen. "Oh, and doc?" she yelled from there, "your first patient will be here at 9:15!"

My headache came back, and I seriously considered called for an ambulance at that point. I must have had had a much bigger knock on the head than I thought. But no, this must be some hoax. Some bit of fun on Doc Martin. It has to be!

The walls flew past as I marched to kitchen where Louisa was pouring a cup of coffee. "You want a cuppa? I didn't hear your answer before."

I stood there looking at her. Her hair was down, looking a bit flyaway, and the dress must have been taken straight from Pauline's closet. The shoes were pure Pauline along with other bits of necklace, neckscarf, and bracelets. She jangled as she moved across to the table to get sugar.

"Louisa? I…"

"What? Coffee doc?"

"You say that I've employed you for, how long?"

She bit her lips. "Like I said. Since Elaine left. You know – she and Greg went to Pompeii and didn't come back!"

"Right." I started to feel a throb in my skull and rubbed my head.

"Headache, doc? Have you taken something for…"

"Yes, I have! Now let's stop this nonsense, once and for all! You and Pauline are playing some cruel trick, aren't you! Well, I won't have it! And you even got Sally Tishell in on it last night didn't you?"

"Sally, what's Mrs. Tishell got to do with it? Doc? This is no trick!"

"Well, the constable…"

"Constable? I guess you tell me that our PC isn't Sally Tishell?"

"Well, no. I mean yes!"

"Sally's been the constable here in Port Ismay for almost ten years! Doc, have you gone Bodmin, I mean really?"

In the background the front door opened. "Hello? Louisa? Anyone there? Doc Martin?" a young woman's voice called.

"Ok, Louisa, you can have your little fun!" I marched away to the surgery. A woman was standing in the waiting room, looking lost.

"Come, through!" I yelled.

"Gosh, doc, no reason to be so mean!" She looked at me tearfully. "I've got an appointment."

"Right. Come in; sit."

She sat and looked at me. "Well?"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to get my thyroid checked. That's why I'm here. My three month check."

"Oh, yes. Pauline, where's the patient record? Miss?"

"Miss Stread."

"Stread! Pauline! Pau… I mean, Louisa!"

Louisa clumped through the surgery to the waiting room. "Keep your pants on doc. Sheesh." She started slamming drawers in the other room.

"A little trouble with my staff this morning… sorry."

Miss Stread smiled at me. "That's alright. I've been a little out-of-kilter myself since yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?"

"Nothing, really."

Louisa slunk in "Here" she started and plopped the file onto the desk. "And you don't have to yell." She then flounced out slamming the door behind her.

I opened the packet and read the top sheet. Miss Jane Stread, aged 27, being treated for hypothyroid since last year. Started on a regime of Thyroxine…

"We'll need a blood sample. Paulin… Louisa!"

The door flew open. "What now?"

"I'll need a, erm, blood sample from Miss Stread, here. Standard thyroid screen."

Louisa gaped at me. "Me? Draw blood? You're joking, doc! Good one though. You know I can't stand the stuff!"

This was too much, but with Miss Stread giving me an odd look, I could only press on. I leaped up, collected the materials, gloved my hands and made ready. "Examination table." I pointed.

My patient complied. I swabbed the skin in the crook of her arm. The elastic circled her thin arm nicely and the veins came up. I grasped the needle, laid the extra vacutainers to the side, and breathed deeply.

"Problem, doc?" she asked. "You seem upset."

"No, just with this Louisa - Pauline business…" I plunged the needle into the vein, expecting the usual flood of saliva into my mouth, Palmer sweating to break out on my hands and feet, then armpits and face. The needle went in, I plugged the container into the line and it filled.

"Ooh, God!" said Miss Stread. "I can never stand this part." She looked away.

"What? The needle?"

"No the blood. Doc it amazes me how you can stand it!"

I was amazed too. I felt totally in control, no sweat, no nausea, and no panic! Another anomaly to this very odd Tuesday morning.

Samples drawn, I stored them in the sample fridge, threw the gloves into the bin, and finished the verbal exam. No weight loss or gain, no fatigue, no change in appetite of either food or libido. "Miss Stread, seems like you're doing well. We'll get the samples off today. I'll call with the results if we need to change your dosage."

"Thanks, doc." She left.

The morning went on. Patients arrived, I saw them, diagnosed, treated, and so on. And all the while, Louisa Glasson was hard at work in the waiting room, as my _secretary_. My headache went on and it trumped my other aches and pains. The largest pain, though, was the torturous thought that I didn't know what was happening. What _was_ going on?

At noon, the patient stream trickled to a halt and she walked in to surgery. "Doc! Can I go to lunch?"

"Er, sit down, would you?" I indicated the chair in front of my desk.

She clumped over in those Pauline shoes and sat. "What's wrong, doc? Headache again?"

"Yes." I ground my palms into my eyes and when I removed them, there Louisa sat, no figment of my imagination and she was still dressed as Pauline.

"Louisa…" I didn't know how to begin. I made a choice. "Yes! Lunch! Let's go!"

"Well, I was going to go to the Large's to get a sandwich. You can come, if you like."

"I'd like that." So I followed her outside, I locked the door and looked long and hard at the brass plaque beside the door. The plate proudly read 'Martin Ellingham, MD, FRCS'. I brushed my fingers across it. At least this much hadn't changed.

"Problem, doc?"

"No."

Louisa led the way downhill to Large's Restaurant and it was cleaner than I had seen the terrace yesterday. The tables were set with cloth, not vinyl, and the chairs had matching cushions. Looked nice for once.

Louisa picked a table and sat down, looked around and yelled. "Al you've got customers!"

A head looked out and Al Large appeared. He looked just as I remembered him from yesterday, thank God. Semi-bearded face, rather grim looking, but the apron around his middle was clean.

"Louisa and the doc, too! Give me a minute." Clanging sounds and muffled voices came from the kitchen door.

"Now doc, isn't this nice! Have we ever had a meal together?" She beamed at me again with her hair flowing around her face.

"Yes, just last week." We ate at her cottage. She fixed broiled cod and a green salad, then later…

Louisa looked shocked. "Doc? We haven't!" She went on, "You have been acting mighty strange today."

"Well… you might have heard, or noticed that my car…"

I was interrupted by two menus falling onto the table. Joe Penhale was standing there looking down at us.

"Why hello! A little tete-a-tete at lunch, eh? Wink, wink!"

I leaped up, "Thank God, Joe, it's so good to see you!" and threw my arms around him.

"Hey, doc! Whatcha doin' to my brother?" Al was five feet away giving me a funny look.

I looked from one to the other. "Brothers? But you're not brothers!"

Joe answered. "Yes, we are."

"No you're not! Can't be!"

"Yes, we are," added Al.

Joe butted in with, "Well more like half-brothers."

"No, Joe, you stupid git; we're step-brothers, right?" Al came over and pried my arms from Joe. "Been together since we was 14 or 15!"

Joe beamed at him "Yeah! And thick as thieves we was too!"

"And still are!"

I exploded. "But what about the plumbing business, and where's Bert?"

"Oh," Al's face fell. "Dad, he left us a long time ago. Then my mum, well she took up with Joe's dad…"

I looked at the three of them, Joe, Al, and Louisa – the same, yet different. Just now they were all looking at me as if I had gone Bodmin, and I was beginning to think that I was going Bodmin too.


	3. Chapter 3

A Fast Car

I marched, more like fled, from the restaurant and went to the garage round the slipway. There sat my Lexus, with the front end smashed. I circled it warily. It was my car – same license plate – same upholstery. I remembered I'd left a notepad in the glove box, with notes from a callout to a farm on Friday. The notepad was there, just as I thought. The handwriting was mine and the date was correct.

I leaned against the garage wall and tried to catch my breath. I looked at the village of Port Ismay. It looked pretty much like Port Wenn; same white washed cottages jammed together along narrow streets, dark roofs above, and the harbour was identical, even to the signs about not blocking the slipway to the lifeboat station. The street signs and house numbers looked the same as well, but the people…

My thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"Doc Martin. Well old son you sure did a number on the Lexus!" a squat man was emerging from the depths of the garage, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. "It will take quite a packet to fix it this time."

"I…uh… expect the insurance will sort it."

"But," the man went on, "I expect you need a car."

"Yes, I do."

"Well…" he looked around conspiratorially, "I might have just the thing. Come around to the back."

I followed him and saw a red Ferrari F40 two seat coupe, with the targa roof panel removed. It looked like it was going 150 kph just sitting still. One of the cardiac surgeons had one in London; eminently impractical.

"How about that, doc! The Colonel just bought it, but had to go to London for two weeks. He asked me to keep an eye on it as it won't fit in his garage, with the other cars and things."

I ran my eyes over the low-slung car. "You're not suggesting?"

"Sure, doc. I am. Look, the Colonel don't need to know, and that," he hooked his thumb at my crushed Lexus, "will cost a lot of quid, and I think you might want to save a few. Instead of a hire car - why not?" He waved to the car. "Besides the way you took care of my missus last year with the influenza and all…" His grimy held out the keys.

There's something about driving a well designed sports car. The seat fits your legs, seat, back and neck just right and the leather seats provide a grip on your whole body. The gauges are arranged perfectly for all the important information, when you need it. The seat harness is tight and well fitted. The leather wrapped wheel fit my large hands perfectly.

The view over the bonnet was expansive through the steep windshield. Although the view to the rear quarters may be hampered by a rear pillars around the massive mid engine, as a race driver once said, 'After the race begins, I don't care what's behind me.'

I dropped the clutch, the rear tires spun and then grabbed on the damp pavement. The garage owner waved as I sped away, cranking the steering wheel to negotiate the curving street. The horn worked quite well, but the pedestrians scattered at the sound of the oncoming 2.9 liter turbocharged V8 as I worked through the gears to the open road. Then things moved a lot faster as I opened her up.

The air was blasting over the windscreen and into the cabin as I pressed the throttle. For the first time since yesterday, things seemed right, somehow. I was passing 200 kph when I came round a bend, and flashed past a green police rover on the verge. I got off the gas when I saw the flashing lights behind me and let the car coast down through the gears, pulling to the side.

PC Sally Tishell gave me a hard stare as she came to the driver's side. "Doctor? What in the hell was you doing?"

"Good question," I answered.

"That's not a very straight forward answer."

"Emergency - in Wadebridge. I've sent a patient to hospital and I must get there to consult!"

"Well, alright. But be careful, wouldn't want you to get hurt again. Isn't one car crash a day enough?"

"Yes. You're right, I'm sorry…I'll drive slower… officer Tishell."

"Officer Tishell? My, aren't we formal?" She winked. "Just call me Sally."

She walked back to her vehicle, as I felt a cold sweat break out on my back. Tishell drove past me, and I sat for a few minutes, and took deep breaths. The headache was still there, and the memory of the crash was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, like looking at a landscape through the rain. This was not good… not good at all.

I rung the surgery. When the answer phone came on, I heard Louisa's voice. "Port Ismay surgery. Please leave your name, telephone number, and medical issue. The office will open shortly. If you have an emergency…"

The message cut off. "Hello? Hello? Surgery!"

"Pauline… I mean, Louisa, this is Doctor Ellingham… it's Martin!"

"Hi, doc. Why'd you run off? You didn't eat lunch."

"Louisa… cancel all the patients for the afternoon."

"Alright, doc. Say I heard that you had an auto accident, so are you sure you're alright? Might be any number of problems, if you got shaken up… well, who knows?"

"Thanks, Louisa… and Louisa… I want to say…"

"What's that doc? Bad connection! Can you…" snaps and pops punctuated her voice.

"Louisa, I need help!"

"Help? Doc?"

I took a deep breath and squeezed the steering wheel so hard it hurt. "Louisa, I love you! My God I wanted to say that for a long time! I don't care what else has gone on, or is going on, not that I can understand any of it!"

"What's that? Doc?" her voice grew faint. "Stupid phone!" then she hung up.

That settled it. I put the phone down, looking at the contact list. I almost called the surgery back, but I didn't. The moor was treeless and almost flat. There wasn't a mountain for a hundred miles. The ocean was off to my left but the water was icy, with Summer gone. But I was pointed in the proper direction.

I pressed in the clutch and revved the V8; the twin turbochargers pumping massive amounts of air into it. The RPMS went to eight grand without a falter. The leather smelled good, and I was amazed that the Colonel would want this car.

Then I remembered he'd once told me that he'd always fancied a fast red car, ever since he'd seen an American detective show on the telly long ago.

And suddenly there was a little voice in my head that told me where I needed to go. First gear, let the clutch in as the throttle went down. With a roar and a mad laugh, I went.


	4. Chapter 4

Family

The car ate up the distance quickly. The white house was about as I remembered it, but there were three more chicken coops in evidence. The Ferrari came to a sliding halt on the gravel drive and someone across the way looked up. Someone I didn't know.

I exited the car as the man walked over. "You looking for somebody, mister?" said the man, about fifty, with thick hands and purplish nail beds. I wondered about the state of his peripheral circulation.

"Joan Norton; my Aunt Joan."

"Oh, she's round back. I'm Jonathan by the way. Haven't met." He extended his hand.

"Doctor Ellingham – Martin." I took his hand to shake it and felt was icy. "When's the last time you've had a medical checkup?"

Jonathan scratched his head. "Oh, don't really know… been a while though."

"I suggest you make an appointment to see your GP, and if you don't have one, call the Port Wenn, erh, Port Ismay surgery and make an appointment. I think you might have…"

"I know, doc. Been meaning to do that; a bit breathless at times too."

"Make that appointment and soon." Before I could add more, Aunty Joan came round the house.

"Marty! So good to see you. I heard you had an auto accident the other day! The Lexus got it again, eh? And I see you've met Jonathan. Come to the house, Marty! Coffee?"

Aunty Joan was energetic as always. She was the one person that I can safely say was my family. Not my mum and dad, those selfish fools. Joan and my late uncle Phil were a refuge for several summers here, until that ended abruptly. One of the reasons I applied for the GP spot here in Port Wenn, or where ever, was to be near her.

I followed her to the house, which looked far more prosperous than I'd though since the last time. There was a new cooker in the kitchen, the walls had been freshly painted and all the open shelves had been replaced with cabinets.

"Sit, sit. Oh, but let me give you a hug!" She did do.

I uncomfortably hugged her back. "Aunty Joan, I wanted … to talk about something."

"Alright, Marty." She brought a cup to the table with hot coffee. "Black. sugar?"

"Yes. Please."

Refreshment in place she sat opposite. "Now tell me what's been happening. The car accident, were you hurt?"

"Bump on the head."

"And?"

"Have a bit of a headache," which strangely was easing here in the warm confines of Joan's kitchen. I looked around. "The kitchen looks nice."

"Yes, it does. With the extra money from the eggs – you wouldn't believe what I can charge for my free range eggs and fryers. Quite handy!" Her ruddy face was framed by her white hair. "Now why have you come to see me?"

I frowned. "Must I need a reason to come see my aunt?"

"Well, no." She went on with a smile. "But you usually do."

She was right in this world and the other. "Joan?"

"Yes, Marty. Do you want a scone? Baked some this morning."

"No, the coffee is fine." I drummed my fingers on the new table. Yes things were definitely different. "Have I been acting strange lately?"

Joan laughed then covered her mouth. "Sorry," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I mean, well, you, know. You aren't like most people."

"Yes. I know." I cleared my throat. "Have you noticed anything odd lately?"

"No. Not really. But what about you?"

I chewed my lip. "After my car accident and I still don't know what caused it, things seemed different. People were doing odd things."

"I see. And these people were…?"

I drew a deep breath. "Sally Tishell is the constable."

"Yes. She is; has been for years. First policewoman in this county, matter of fact."

"Al Large's mother and Joe Penhale's father got married? And Al and Joe now run a restaurant?"

She didn't even blink. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

"And Louisa Glasson…"

"What about Louisa? You haven't been going on about how inefficient she is _have_ you? Give the poor girl a chance, Marty. She's been putting up with you for two years. Many's the time you…"

I held up my hand to stop her and thankfully she did. "That's what I thought."

"What did you think?"

"That everything is normal."

She looked startled and her eyes flashed. "So it's you! So you don't think things are normal?"

I looked her full in the face as I spoke. "No, it's not." I drummed the table again leaving Joan to wonder about her nephew. In fact I was wondering about myself.

"Marty, do you need help… is this about Edith? That trouble?"

"Edith. God no!" I blew up and leaped to my feet. "When she left it was a shock, but I wasn't about to go traipsing off across the globe after her! She left me!" I roared.

Joan sat there looking up at me in horror. "Oh, Marty! How could you have forgotten?"

"Forgot what?"

Aunty Joan stood and turned to the window.

"Joan?" I heard a sniffle from her. I took three steps and put a hand on her shoulder.

Joan turned and her ruddy face was wet with tears. She took a quick look at my face then plunged hers into my chest.

"Why, Aunty Joan, have I upset you?"

"Oh, Marty." She cried into my suit. "You don't remember, do you? Shall I call that nice Doctor Peters over in Wadebridge?"

"Why, Joan?"

She sobbed openly. "Edith is dead, Martin! She died of cancer three years ago!"

"What?"

"That's why you moved here, boy. You and she were, well almost engaged I think - though you never told me - and after… well you called me and said that you just had to get out of London."

"No!"

"Yes, and when Doc Sims died, you became the perfect choice for the GP spot in Port Ismay."

I sat down totally flummoxed. "But that's not what happened…"

"Oh, Martin – your mental breakdown and all that! You really don't remember?"

For once I could be totally truthful. "No I don't."


	5. Chapter 5

Haemophobia

As Aunty Joan blubbered onto my suit, and these were real tears, I wondered what all this was really about? Clearly my aunt was not 'in' on the joke. It was no joke, not to them. Not to them. As for me it was only confusion.

Other than the headache, my mind seemed to be clear, yet the details were jumbled.

All the pieces of Port Wenn, the surgery, Louisa, all the others, even Mrs. Tishell, were there. Even poor Edith, whom I'd not thought of for months, and I suppose she was still in North America somewhere, was in this place; this Port Ismay.

But what of Pauline? When Joan calmed down a little, a drop of sherry helped, I could ask her. "Joan, Aunty Joan… you with me?"

She nodded and rubbed her red eyes with a cloth.

"Pauline? Is she at the school?"

"Yes, of course, Pauline Lamb is the head teacher. Why you yourself are on the Board of Governors and I've heard you were her most enthusiastic supporter."

I feared this. In this Port Ismay things were… strange. And this might be the strangest of all. "I was enthusiastic?"

"Why, yes!" She managed a smile. "And from what I heard about you two, well, you know!"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, we shall see, I suppose."

I really wondered how this Port Ismay Pauline Lamb performed as a head teacher. Those poor children!

I also considered Louisa Glasson, _my_ Louisa dressed in those odd clothes that Pauline Lamb wore, that is the ones that _my_ Pauline wore. The Louisa that I love, the Louisa that loves me, I think – yes I am certain of that one thing. That helped me to stiffen my resolve. There must be some way out… it was all so confusing!

"Aunty Joan, I have asked you for many things, but this one thing, you must do. Please don't say what I think you're about to say." I dropped my head wearily.

"Oh, Marty, it's alright. Don't be embarrassed."

"Is worse than I thought then." I was ruined.

"Worse? No. Not worse. When you came here three years ago, you were a changed man. Not the hard charging surgeon you once were. You told me then that you wanted - no needed - a simpler place. That's Port Ismay." Now she smiled. "So Martin, you came, and got the GP spot. You've relaxed and become more, likeable, in your own way. Doctor Peters found you fit… afterwards."

"I see." I looked at her with some regret for what I was about to say. "Joan," I gripped her hand. "I know that there is a special bond between us, and…" I slumped in the chair. "But this is all wrong."

"Wrong, what's wrong? Me?"

"Joan, you have three chicken coops. Last Thursday when I saw you only had one, and no helper named Jonathan either."

Her eyes grew worried. "Martin, I think I'd better call Peters; maybe you need a rest again." She said this as a statement.

I stood up to leave as this was too painful. Whoever this Joan was, she was not my Aunty Joan. "Joan Norton, I have loved you my entire life, and I love you now, but please, please don't tell anyone that I have talked this way." I looked down at her with what love I had. "You're right - I do need a rest. I'll call Peters myself."

"You're sure," her eyes were full of concern. "You could call now."

"Later. I'll call him later."

Her eyes grew wide. "Martin, you know very well that Doctor Peters is Doctor Marilyn Peters. She's an expert in post trauma psychology."

"Yes, of course. I just forgot."

"Alright." She walked with me to the door and kissed my head as I went to leave. "Marty, have a care, would you? I'll call you tonight."

"Thank you…" I looked at her kind face. This I knew well. "Thanks for the coffee."

She looked at me with alarm as I stood at the door. "Thanks? You thanked me? God, Marty, what is going on?"

I looked around at her bright new and clean kitchen. "By the way, you mentioned your free range eggs."

"Yes, I get a great wad of cash for those. Just pen the hens up and let them graze. Jonathan came up with a sort of tent like thing to keep them from straying. We move it on the field each day. They like it, I suppose, lots of seeds and bugs. Many more eggs – and they are delicious."

I turned to go then had to ask one more question. "Aunty Joan, have ever known me to suffer from

haemophobia? A fear of blood? Every seen any reaction such as vomiting, or panicking, anything like that?"

"No, I haven't! Why would you ask such a thing?"

I could only nod and go to the Ferrari, a car that the Colonel, my Colonel, would never buy. My headache soared to a new height as I drove away.


	6. Chapter 6

Lessons Learned

Somewhere between Joan's farm and the Port Ismay I realized that I had to do something. So I put on my doctor hat more firmly and reviewed my symptoms – if they were symptoms.

The headache and muscle stiffness was likely due to the car crash. The fact that the head pain was fairly persistent made a diagnosis of mild concussion plausible. The muscle stiffness arising from the seat belt and airbag impacts went along with my theory.

However, my persistent delusions… _if_ they _were_ delusions… that reality has been altered is perplexing. Have I suffered a physiological insult to my brain and I am now lying in hospital hooked to monitors and so on? Have I suffered a psychotic break and am trying to force some new reality, mine, upon what is the real external world?

Or is there some other physical cause – some disease or external factor? Am I lying in a ditch somewhere with my skull bashed in with cerebral cortex misfiring merrily away? I blew the Ferrari's horn. I heard that. The leather smelt great and the steering wheel was tight in my grip. If these were random neurons firing they had a great imagination.

I could easily see that if this is psychological, and I am left untreated, it could be devastating.

Joan told me that Edith Montgomery was dead. I haven't seen Edith for over twelve years when she left for Canada.

That is I do not believe that I have seen her and certainly not within the last three years! Although our romantic interludes were… satisfying at the time … _she_ left _me_. Yes I had a depression there, but that was twelve years ago. I think.

But Joan's words, 'Edith is dead' did not affect me at all. Not one bit. I'd expect some emotional response.

And my haemophobia apparently gone as well, so far. Sticking that patient in the arm had no affect on me. I might be tried yet.

But Joan's free range eggs sounded like a capital idea. Must remember that.

As I drove along and these bizarre thoughts went through my head – sifting what I believed to be facts – weighing them against the external reality of the village of Port Ismay, something else happened.

Some dust or smoke came into the car and made my eyes sting, quite severely. My eyes watered and I slowed the Ferrari until it cleared somewhat. I was only a short distance from the village, so I maintained a much more leisurely pace. The car handled better at slower speeds, but did not provide the visceral thrill of noise and acceleration, and well, fun. But the rest of trip there seemed to be this persistent odor of smoke. I coughed a few times as well.

I took the car to the garage and returned the keys. The garage man was unsure why I brought them back.

"Don't need it, thanks." I dropped the keys into his hand and left the building.

"But doc, won't you be needin' a car?" he called.

"No. By the way, you may want to have the exhaust system checked, or perhaps one of the valves, I smelled smoke on the way into town."

I was standing at the harbour and considered my options. If I went left I'd go up the hill to surgery but if I turned right - to the school. Dreading this I turned right.

The Port Ismay Elementary School was as I remembered the other. Same paint, roof, but obvious change to the sign. I entered and found the building empty of noise, just the clack of a keyboard down the hall and a custodian mopping the floor. School was done for the day.

The main office was empty, save for Pauline Lamb, sitting behind a desk where a plaque read 'Port Ismay – Head Teacher,' just as Aunty Joan said. I wish I could say that I was glad to see her, but I knew this visit was a mistake. The walls held several plaques for achievement – best teacher – best school play director – most appreciated head-teacher. She was clearly well liked, and was going places. Unlike her doppelganger, her double, which I knew all too well – and her failings were a sore point with me. This one though, was a mystery, along with my relationship, if any, to her.

"Pauline?"

"Martin!" she yelled and jumped up from her desk. I appreciated the very un-Pauline but more-Louisa-like clothing as she approached. She wore a sweater set, demure necklace, dark trousers with sensible shoes, all topped by Pauline's green eyes, freckles, and ginger hair. Before I could protest she swept over and circled me with her arms. "Hm…" she buzzed into my neck. "So nice to see you! I was just finishing up."

I clumsily returned the hug for a few seconds then disengaged myself and cleared my throat. "I wanted to talk…"

She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "Just talk? Let me shutdown my laptop. Then we'll have dinner. Ok?"

"I really wanted to talk."

"What? No dinner?"

This Pauline was more like Louisa than I thought she would be. The clothing yes, but the demeanor not so. She acted more like I imagined Pauline would act around Al, than with… someone else.

"No. I'm not really hungry." Not quite a true statement. "Now about talking…"

"Alright. Sit," she pointed to her visitor's chair. Pauline pressed the laptop keys, waited a moment then closed the cover. "You now have my full attention!" From her posture, leaning forward over the desk towards me, she was intent.

I sat and felt like an errant pupil or a parent called for a conference. "Lou… uh, Pauline, I wanted to ask you some questions."

"Sure, Martin. Is this some sort of pre-proposal thing?"

"Proposal?"

"Well, er… you did seem rather keen the last two weeks. And after we drank all that wine…"

I held up my hands. "Stop! Just let me talk!"

"Playing hard to get, huh? Ok." She steepled her hands on the desk. "Shoot."

I looked again at the achievement and appreciation plaques hanging on the walls around her. This was a person that I did not know at all. Rather this Pauline was too good, too Louisa-like, in her professional standing.

Her character was so unlike my Pauline. Perhaps this is what _my_ Pauline could become with education and opportunity. And I also could tell that this Pauline was not to be trifled with either.

This one acted more like Pauline than Pauline did. That made no sense at all. Perhaps a trip to Bodmin wasn't far off at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Go With The Flow

How to begin? Pauline stared hard at me, but the way she licked her lips, it was obvious she didn't want to just talk. "Look's like you're hungry!"

"Well, yeah." She stood. "Can we go somewhere and you can talk to me there?"

Definitely not my Pauline. "Alright. Where, uhm, would you like."

"Let's go to Large's. I like that Al – he's sort of cute. Joe I can do without."

Figures. We walked out, after she locked up the building. We were at the school, just by the door, relatively secluded from the village.

"Pauline, I must know something!"

"Alright, Martin, What is it?"

I gazed at Pauline's face above, but Louisa's clothes below. I had to find out and there was only one way to know.

I said a silent prayer, put my arms around her and kissed her full on the lips. She was startled at first but then responded, energetically. Her arms pulled me tightly to her. Her lips were warm, moist and inviting, but the hair was the wrong color and eyes too, and the perfume and hair conditioner aroma was much stronger than I'd thought.

With a gasp I managed to wrest myself away. "Pauline, sorry…"

"Martin?" she began. "What's wrong? I mean... last week, we was…"

I wiped my lips. "Pauline, I'm sorry, it's not you. Really. It's me and I'm sorry! I know I've been acting strangely."

Pauline looked up at me in her squinty way. "Yeah. Ok." She turned and walked away. "I thought we were getting somewhere!" she threw over her shoulder. "Maybe I'm wrong!"

I stood there stupidly as she took a few steps.

"Well, come on, Martin! We still have to eat, right?"

Sheepishly I went and she took my hand in hers. It felt unfamiliar.

"Come on, Marty. You'll get used to me! Just go with the flow!" she laughed. "God, your hand is cold!"

So hand in reluctant hand we walked down hill across the slipway and to The Large Restaurant.

If there was anything at all that convinced me that this was a delusion or a hallucination, then the kiss said it all.

Louisa… well when we have kissed, not frequently, but when we have, I feel like I'm pouring my soul into it. And I can tell that Louisa feels the same, I think. But as my lips met Pauline's lips and she responded, I felt like I was being _consumed_ by Pauline and it was not pleasant. It made my skin crawl. Perhaps that is why she said my hand was cold?

This entire day had gone so far wrong. Started with yesterday's car crash; as yet unexplained. That was when things went totally Bodmin, the legendary place of mindless wandering.

The village of Port Ismay, a place I'd never heard of, was inhabited by people that looked and sounded like people that I knew, but they acted almost totally differently. Things were familiar yet strange and muddled. And now as I looked across the harbor it seemed to be misty and edges of buildings and boats had a soft fuzzy quality – not hard edged.

What I needed was a detective - a private investigator - to sort this thing out. I needed sorely a pee eye for Port Ismay.

As we walked along my throat got tighter and tighter, and my chest felt constricted as well. The headache ramped up to a high level now punctuated by sharp chest pains as I felt a cough develop.

"Martin, you ok?" Pauline asked.

"I'm not sure." I shook my head as a coughing fit ensued and I stumbled a little.

Pauline took my arm. "When's the last time you ate, Martin?"

"Breakfast," I managed to blurt as coughs continued.

"You're blood sugar's likely a bit low. Come on. One of my teachers has this all the time." She guided me to the restaurant terrace.

I sat heavily as she went away and came with a glass of water.

"Here, drink. You might have inhaled something that's bothering your airways."

I drank and my pharynx felt better. A few more coughs ensued but not was deep.

"Al! Hey Al or Joe? Get out here," she bellowed. "Doc Martin's not feeling well!"

Joe and Al came running.

"What's wrong, doc?" Al inquired.

"Not sure," I managed to croak out. I felt rather knackered. "Just let me rest a bit."

Joe's face was right in mine. "Hi, doc! Let me look at you." He examined my face. "Your eyes look bloodshot, doc. What you been up too?"

Pauline stuck her head in saying, "And his hands are cold too."

I looked at my hands, and they did feel cold and the nail beds had a strange purplish tinge. I thought of Jonathon on Aunty Joan's farm. Was this cardiovascular collapse? I put a hand to my wrist and felt the pulse – rather fast. I coughed and felt my pulse increase with each one.

"You think we should call 999?" Joe asked. "He doesn't look good."

Al chewed on a finger nail. "Might not be a bad idea…"

In the middle of the three-way discussion between Al, Pauline, and Joe, Louisa came to the table and sat next to me. The ocean behind her had taken on more of that out of focus look that was infusing anything further than a few feet away from eyes.

"Doc Martin? You don't look so good. Pauline what you been doin' to the doc?"

"Nothing Louisa, we just walked from the school and he started this coughing fit!"

Louisa turned to look at me and she took my hand. It felt warm and familiar. I looked at her and she smiled. "It'll be alright, Martin. It will."

"Thanks." As she held my hand I felt better; much. "Louisa, it's very nice of you… You'd make a fine mother! Very nurturing."

"Thank you, Martin. I'm glad you think so."

Pauline was waving her arms in the background with Al and Joe; all pursuing an animated conversation. I could not clearly hear them as a rushing noise filled my ears. Curiously, I could hear Louisa perfectly.

She spoke soothingly. "Doctor Martin Ellingham. Are you ok?"

"Now I am," I answered.

"Good, I'm glad." she smiled and I could see Louisa Glasson, _my_ Louisa in her face.

I blubbered out "Oh Louisa! I'm so lost… so…"

"Shhh," she shushed me. "I want to talk about Pauline."

"Pauline? What about her?"

"Are you really with her? I mean when I heard that you two were carrying on I felt rather low. Still do."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Her hand still held mine so I interlaced my fingers with hers. "I didn't mean to… disappoint you."

"That's fine Martin. If it makes you happy."

"No! It doesn't! When I called surgery this afternoon…"

"Yes?" she looked like she was waiting for something; something good.

"I told you… that I … lo… lov… love you!" I managed to get out.

She laughed. "I thought that's what you said! That's fine! Really great! All these years and I never knew it!"

"I love you, Louisa!" I said again. "It's the only thing I know for sure!" I grabbed her other hand.

Louisa blushed. "Well, when I heard that you and Pauline were… together… it was all such a shock and I'm afraid it hasn't really sunk in!"

"But I love YOU!" I shouted.

Pauline, Joe, and Al stopped their arguing and turned to stare at Louisa and me with blank stares.

I struggled to my feet and took Louisa in my arms. "Let's get out of here Louisa!"

Just then I heard a voice, one I'd not heard in Port Ismay before.

"Doc! Help!" It was Bert Large, Al's dad, and it was coming from inside the restaurant building.


	8. Chapter 8

A Little Plumbing Work

Well this made no sense at all, but an adrenaline surge launched me to my feet and I ran towards the kitchen door. The others simply stood there and watched. I looked back at them and they were frozen in place, except for Louisa.

She stood as I'd left her, but her face was turned towards me. I could read her lips, luckily as the rushing sound increased greatly, so that even she was voiceless. But her lips formed the words 'Martin, help him!'

I fought my way through the fog, which had expanded from the harbour and now shrouded the restaurant terrace as well. A doorframe loomed ahead, and I plunged through it. "Bert!" I yelled, "Where are you?"

"I'm down here, doc! In the basement!" Bert's voice came through clear. "Just follow my voice, doc!"

I wended my way through the hot kitchen, through a storage room, and found a narrow door at the end. This was the apparent source of the rushing sound I've been hearing. As I put my hands on the door frame and peered in, I saw a steep set of stairs, descending.

"Down here, doc!" Bert's voice drifted up to me. "But watch your head, there's not a lot of headroom down here."

I ducked my head, the lintel must have been only five feet tall or so, and saw a few brownish-gray hairs stuck to the door frame. They looked a lot like mine. But I descended the worn steps carefully with my neck cocked at a painful angle. And the rushing noise I'd heard before fell to a low volume.

At the bottom the stairway opened up into a cramped room. Bert Large, plumber, some time restaurateur, and jack of all trades, was sitting on a box drinking tea and eating a scone and I could smell gooseberries.

"Bert!" I began. What in hell are you doing down here?"

"Well, you know, doc, I started to repair this here pipe leak." He pointed to water seeping from an ancient pipe. "But I thought, well, it's almost tea time, so I'm taking a break. Have one?" He waved a meaty hand towards a pasteboard box, with two scones lying in the bottom. "I think there's a cherry and maybe an apple filled one left."

"Bert? You called for my help? What ever is the matter?"

"Well, doc, you know I was just thinking about you, and I thought I heard your voice out on the terrace. Louisa as well, and I just thought you might be able to help with this here plumbing job."

"Me be a plumber?"

"Well, doc!" he laughed, "Bein' a doctor and all, you must know a lot about tubes and such, all this internal pluming!" He slapped his ample belly.

"No. I don't think so. I'm used to treating biological items, not copper or cast iron."

Bert laughed again. "Well, you know it is a trade that can come in handy! Now, when I was a lad, course my dad, he was the plumber here in Port Wenn for many a year, long before I showed up. And his dad before him as well. You might say that the whole of the village depends on Large pipes!" He guffawed at his own joke.

I'd turned to leave the portly plumber to his task, when it hit me what he'd just said. "Port Wenn?"

"Yeah, you know! The village of Port Wenn – where I raised my son Al since he were a pup - not that I didn't want his mum around, but when she died, I didn't have a choice, now did I?"

I turned to Bert. "Port Wenn! Bert you said PORT WENN!"

Bert gave me a funny look. "Yeah, doc. Port Wenn, there is no other! Unless you been thinking about some other place. Plenty of other ports and such, but only one Port Wenn."

I fell to my knees on the filthy floor and threw my arms around Bert Large, which was no easy matter.

"Now, now doc! I'm glad to see you too, but when I was raised, men didn't hug or none of that stuff, at least not in public. I'd not want anyone to get the wrong idea!" he chuckled.

I felt a tear run down my face. "Bert, you have no idea how glad you've made me!"

Bert pushed me away. "Well, I like you too, doc! What say you park yourself on that there bucket and let's have a little talk? And besides I'd not want to come between you and Miss Louisa either!" he laughed long and hard. "What with the wedding and all! That would be a fine how-de-do!"

Louisa! Yes – Louisa – the woman I love; the woman I've asked to marry me! And Bert knew this!

I released the fat man and did as I was told; feeling that at last someone was in my corner, the little corner of Port Wenn. I looked at Bert, with tea mug in hand as he stuffed the last of a scone into his mouth.

"Now!" he set his mug on the floor. "Back to this here plumbing!"

I could only sit and look at Bert the way that Moses must have gazed upon the Promised Land; certainly not the most absurd thought I'd have in the last twenty four hours.

The background rushing sound now grew louder as Bert picked up a butane torch and igniting it, began to heat a length of pipe. "Doc! Now this pipe is copper, and I'll be brazin' it, well more like soldering it, into its mate over here. Then I can put that there new isolation stopcock onto this line over here… And get it all sorted." And so saying he tilted the torch towards the wood wall, which immediately began to sizzle and smoke.

"Bert! Watch it with that torch! You'll set the bloody room on fire!"

"Oh, doc, come on, it's just a little smoke!" he fanned at the air, as the fumes were growing thick.

The cough I'd been having upstairs restarted with a vengeance. "Good, God! Bert! What are you doing? Have a care! I can barely breathe!" I finished with a hacking cough, spewing phlegm and sputum across the floor.

"Say, doc!" Bert coughed as well. "I think you're building up a bit of cold there. These autumn mists have been bad lately and my old mum she said that those coughs just get carried along on em'. If we're not careful the whole village will be coming down with it!"

"Bert! You've set the wall on fire!"

Bert turned slowly and blinked at me showing a certain lack of comprehension. "Naw, just the paint burning off, it's hard to set wood on fire…" He hacked a few times, trying to draw air into his lungs. "When that there paint burns off, why you'll be surprised…"

"You stupid oaf! This wall must be ancient and incredibly dried out! It's like a tinder box down here!" I rose from the bucket, peering through the smoke that now filled the little room. "Bert? We've got to get out!" Groping through the smoke, I grabbed his beefy arm, and pulled at him. "Come on!"

Bert slumped forward and his weight almost pulled me down. I tugged as hard as I could, feeling my sore chest muscles scream in agony. Somehow Bert wasn't completely down, just on all fours. Maybe he had the right idea!

I fell to the floor where there was some bit of almost clear air. "BERT!" I screamed into his ear. "We've got to get out! CRAWL TO THE STAIRS!"

"Right doc!"

Bert might be heavy but he is strong, and on all fours, he crept to the stairs and into the smoke cloud, now filling the room.

I could barely breathe but I kept crawling, feeling at last the rough wood of the treads. Foot by awful foot, I crawled on; pushing myself upward. But the edges of my vision were disappearing, my heart was laboring and muscles were growing weak. I was suffering from anoxia and in not long… I'd not have any brain cells that were useful.

The darkness was now almost complete and flames roaring behind me filled my ears along with the sound of the torturous coughing and hacking of my lungs.

And then I heard a voice. The voice I needed to hear beyond all others.

Louisa Glasson was shouting into my ear. "Martin! MARTIN!"


	9. Chapter 9

Fresh Air

Out of the dark, lights appeared and a little sensation too. Someone was holding one of my hands.

"Give me room!" a voice called. Then I felt lips pressed against mine with air flowing in.

"Doc!" another voice screamed at me. "Come on doc! Breathe! Please!" I heard deep inspirations then those lips came back to mine. More air blew into my lungs and the fog started to lift from my mind.

I managed to open my eyes a crack and saw ginger hair in my field of vision and darker hair to the side of me.

"Call 999, quickly!" Louisa's voice echoed in my head.

I had to stop this, somehow. And the only way was to speak.

As the ginger haired head rose above me I raised a hand to hold it away. "St… stop… I can," the air felt good, if a bit smoke tinged, "breathe on my… own!"

Al Large said "Thank, god! Yeah, he's breathing now! Is he burned anywhere?"

"Al!" a male voice threw in. "What about the fire?"

"It's ok, dad, I squirted it real good and Penhale is giving it another dose. Thankfully we've got two portables extinguishers in the kitchen."

A large shadow that I knew as Bert Large dropped to my side and pressed my shoulder. "You hang in there, doc! I'm sorry about all this…"

"Bert? Give the man some air!" Louisa pushed him away. "Martin! You alright now? The ambulance is on the way."

"No ambulance," I managed to say. '"I'll be…" then I started to cough and had to roll to my side. Blackish sputum sprayed out as I coughed. It wasn't blood, too dark, as this stuff was black. More like soot.

Somebody pounded on my back and that seemed to loosen more mucous. After a few strangled coughs and expectorations I could breathe more clearly. I managed to lift my head and saw I was lying on the terrace of Large's Restaurant. I took a few deep breaths of fresh air and the fuzziness in my head started to clear.

Bert was at my side with a worried look on his heavy face under a coating of soot as large gooey tears ran down his face. "Doc! Well, look at that. He looks much better now!" he broke into a grin. "Doc, if you hadn't got me…" he wiped his large and runny nose on a napkin. "I'm sorry I left that torch burning!"

I looked at him. "Bert? What in the hell happened?"

Louisa interrupted. "Martin! There's been a fire. Can you breathe alright now?"

"Yeah, doc, you didn't look so good." Pauline threw in. She wiped her lips leaving smears of black. "And let me tell you doc, it was no fun giving you a couple of rescue breaths either!"

"Well, you don't seem to mind when you're doin' the same to me!" said Al stiffly.

He got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. "I'll deal with you later," said Pauline, but I caught a twinkle in her eye.

Al responding by pinching her and she squealed. "Not a bit of tongue, I hope," he muttered.

Pauline punched him but Al laughed as the blow staggered him a bit.

"If you two love sick teenagers will stop it, can I have some water?" I said.

Louisa was instantly at my side, cradling my back with her arm, propping me up to drink.

"Martin, you've got a nasty bash right here on your forehead. That was quite a fall you took down those stairs!" she went on. "Poor man! Poor Doc Martin…"

I probed the contusion, sticky with something. I lowered my hand and saw blood. The expected happened and I quickly had to roll to the side and vomit on the floor in a few seconds. "Haemophobia!" I yelled.

"What's that doc?" asked Bert.

I laughed out loud and from the looks on their faces they all thought I'd gone Bodmin once and for all. "Haemophobia, Bert!" I whooped again. "Thank God!" I went on. "I can't stand the sight of blood!"

I was thoroughly enjoying lying with Louisa's arm around me surrounded by my … friends; yes that's what they were, friends. But they all gave me the oddest looks.

PC Joe Penhale emerged from the building in a bit coated with fire extinguisher powder and looking triumphant. "Hey, doctor! Glad to see you're doing better. Look's like the dynamic duo has helped out again!"

I groaned. Somehow Joe always thought we were partners. "Joe, glad we could…"

"Oh let the man alone, would you?" Louisa shouted. "Can we just let him recover?"

"Bert," Joe started, "I'm sorry I'm going to have to issue a citation for improper use of a plumbing torch!"

"Well now, Joe, you know, I've been using a blow torch since before you was born! So don't you go tellin' me about em! You got it?" Bert blustered.

"Well, dad, maybe you was a little careless letting that wall catch fire. Go easy on Joe, would you?" Al went on. "I told you, I'd fix that leak later, if you'd only have listened…"

"Al, there are times when you can go with the flow and times that you can't. I thought it was better to fix that leak this evening, then to wait." Bert shook his head. "But if it wasn't for old Doc Martin here, rushing to my aid, well, I think there'd be whole lot more questions besides what was Bert doin' or not doin' to his own pipes in his own basement!"

Joe backed down. "Ok, Bert, ok. We'll sort it. Right!"

In around twenty minutes the ambulance arrived and during that time I lay there listening as Joe and Bert argued about citations and plumbing, Al and Pauline continued their verbal teasing, and Louisa Glasson cradled me in her arms. And as I lay there on the cold slate terrace, I knew that somehow, someway, I was back in the village of Port Wenn, Cornwall. I was home.

Louisa held me tightly and I grasped her hand. She bent her head to mine. "Martin?" she asked softly.

"Yes, Louisa?" I whispered as the others argued and jostled.

"Is that offer still good?"

"Offer?"

"Well, you know - the one about marriage?"

Ah that one – the important one. "Yes, Louisa. It still stands!"

She dropped her mouth to my ear. "Well, then, I'll still take you up on it!" She kissed my grimy lips and it all was proper. "I love you, Martin!" she said when she came up for air. She dropped her lips to mine again and it was fine.

But as Louisa's scent and lips filled my senses and I responded as well as I could, there was a lingering question that circled the back of mind. What had happened to me in my one day visit to Port Ismay?


	10. Chapter 10

Bumps and Bruises

The ambulance jostled me all the way to Truro, as the medic kept pushing the oxygen mask back onto my face. Each time he did, I pulled it aside so I could speak to Louisa, riding in the back with us.

The medics had tried to bar the way, but Louisa exploded. "I am his FIANCE!" she let out, waving my grandmother's ring in their faces. "I AM GOING WITH HIM!"

How here we are, where I did not want to be, in this white draped room – the Emergency Room of Truro Hospital. I wanted to be home in the village of Port Wenn with Louisa, my Louisa.

The emergency medicine resident looked into my eyes again with a brilliant lamp. "Hm," she hummed and she went on. "Hm… hm… yes, uhm, hm…"

I pulled the oxygen mask off my face and looked her in the eye, although the bright lights of the exam bay made my smoke tortured eyes sting. "Doctor…" I looked down at her name badge, "Dr. Frost. If you say hm, one more time…" I cleared my very sore throat. "I will be forced to…"

"Oh, don't mind him, doctor," interrupted Louisa. "He gets very grumpy when he's not feeling well. Martin, behave!"

The young blonde doctor looked at Louisa. "You're his?"

"Fiancé."

"So you understand him better than anyone." She said as a statement.

Louisa gave me a funny look and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Over the hiss of the oxygen set I heard her say, "He's not a very good patient either, and no, I don't understand everything about him, not really…"

I started to protest but a nurse clamped the mask back on. This older lady looked hard at me. "Now, listen, Doctor Ellingham! You are here because you have suffered smoke inhalation. Now rest easy or I will be forced to use restraints!" She tucked the sheets in about me then patted my hand. "It's always the doctors who make the worst patients. Well take good care of you," she added with softness.

I sneered at her and her smile turned into a snarl.

"Ahem, now, Doctor Ellingham," began the resident. "It appears that you have a mild concussion, this blow to the head – she pointed to the lump on my forehead – started the fall."

"Fall?" I questioned through the mask.

"Yes, Martin," butted in Louisa. "We had just sat down at Large's for dinner. I'd started on my wine, you had water of course, when we heard Bert calling for help."

"And I went into…" I answered through the hissing mask.

"Yes you did. Seems Bert had been passing through the kitchen to mend a pipe and saw us seated. When he accidentally knocked over his blow torch, or so he told me, he called out for you. He said 'I knew Louisa, that Doc Martin, would come a runnin' if I called him!'"

The doctor asked, "And then he rammed his head into a door frame?"

"That's what we think. There's a good chunk of his hair stuck in the door frame at the restaurant. Well you can see he's pretty tall."

"Hm… and these contusions here and here," the doctor pointed to my shoulder and chest, skimpily covered by the hospital gown, "Look like you flew down those stairs on your chest. This one," now she touched my chin, is where you hit the basement floor."

I touched my face gingerly, remembering an automotive air bag going off in my face. "Hm, but…"

"Now you're saying _hm_, doctor?" Doctor Frost teased me.

Louisa laughed. "Sorry Martin," she added when she saw my face.

I glared at all three women in the room. "Why don't you finish your exam now, so I can go home?" I told her testily.

Doctor Frost looked at Louisa. "Engaged? Your funeral… Ok, so the head bump, fell, concussion, skidded down the stairs and then?"

"Well, started Louisa. "Bert Large, that's the plumber, well the restaurant owner, says that as the flames spread, Martin threw him to the floor and pushed him over to the stairs, both of them crawling along below the smoke."

"Ah…" Doctor Frost looked at the blood oximeter instrument, measuring my blood gases. "Your oxygen levels are nearing normal. The beds of your finger nails have pinked up nicely and we can't find any fractures or injuries." She crossed her arms and her tone became directive. "Now, I think you should stay overnight and perhaps we can discharge you tomorrow. There may be some memory lapses with this concussion – X-rays showed no fractures – but a headache and so forth are usual with this type of injury. You will have some shortness of breath until your lungs recover. But all indications are that your lungs are not damaged permanently."

"NO!" I shouted, starting another cough. "I won't spend the night here. Louisa, get me out of here!"

Louisa put her hand on my arm. "Now Martin, I think you should listen to Doctor Frost."

"NO! I am leaving. If I have no acute or life threatening injuries, I am leaving!" I started to rip off the monitoring instruments and sat up. The room spun but I kept moving.

The nurse shook her head as she stomped away. "Always the doctors – the worst patients, ever!"

Louisa looked at the resident and I saw her roll her eyes at me.


	11. Chapter 11

Port Ismay

I was AMA - against medical advice - but I did not care. Leaving the too white confines of hospital made me feel free, even if I was not as strong as I made out to that young resident Frost. And the self-discharge routine almost did me in right there with all the signatures and the usual legal mumbo-jumbo.

Doctor Frost, first name Roberta, gave me the evil eye as I pulled my bedraggled self together with the reluctant help of Louisa Glasson, my… fiancée.

"Martin, aren't you sure it might not be better…" Louisa started.

"No!" I responded.

Frost stepped in. "Doctor Ellingham, I am certain that you are upset, and certainly not feeling well. There is no reason for you to take it out on this woman."

I swing an icy stare at the doctor and she clammed up.

Putting arm around me as I descended into a wheelchair, Louisa said, "Come on Martin, let's get you home."

I patted Louisa's slim fingered hand. "Sorry, Louisa."

The resident sighed. "I have a feeling that you'll feel awful later and come back to hospital."

"If I do, you won't be here, will you?"

"No, I'm off shift Tuesday mornings." She answered.

"Tuesday? You mean Wednesday, right?"

Louisa jumped in. "Martin, it's just past 1 AM Tuesday morning, have you lost a whole day?"

I could only sit stunned as I was wheeled to the doors.

The long taxi trip took us to Louisa's cottage, where she and the driver helped me from the car. Despite my bravado, I was completely spent when we returned to Port Wenn, but I was extremely glad to see the welcome sign as we descended the road towards the harbour.

Louisa practically had to drag me upstairs, although I suggested the sofa would be adequate. She protested saying, "Martin, you've come this far, you might as well climb a few steps to a decent bed."

So with her pushing and me grunting I made it to the top. I tottered along at the top of the stairs, as she guided me through the doorway.

"Stop!" she commanded. "Can you make it into the bathroom?"

"Yes, just," I wheezed.

So Louisa held me up as I made my way into the loo until I slumped onto the commode totally spent.

"Take those clothes off and you need a decent wash, as well."

Every bit of my clothing, and me too, reeked of smoke and fumes. The suit coat I pulled off with no problem. The tie had disappeared somewhere in all the action, and my shirt was covered in dirt, snot, a little blood, and various other bodily fluids. Louisa pulled that off and threw to the floor.

"I think we'll just have to buy a new shirt, and the suit… maybe the cleaner can fix all this." She waved a pretty hand at the stains down the legs, mostly at the knees. "But those shoes! Whatever is in Bert's basement?"

I looked at what were once fine Oxfords now scuffed and spattered with muck. "A thousand years of grime?" I kicked them off, but struggled with my trousers. "Louisa, I need…"

"So! Now you ask for help?" but she smiled. She dragged off the trousers and if I was feeling better… well, some other time. She stripped off my socks and they were almost as bad as the shoes.

Now in underwear alone, she plied wash cloth and soap to knock down the smell and grime. The shirt came off, all sweat stained and rumpled. There was an EKG patch still stuck on my chest and Louisa ripped it off.

"Ow! Louisa, that hurt!"

"Sorry! Just another of your many bangs and bumps, Martin!" She washed my legs and feet. "You'll need a proper bath tomorrow. I have the most wonderful bath oil…" she stopped and froze.

"Louisa? What ever is wrong?"

"Nothing…" she sniffed and her voice broke. "Yes, there is." She sniffed again and looked at me in the sweetest way, eyes filling with tears. "Martin, don't get me wrong, but why did you have to go charging in there playing fireman when Bert called?"

"Because he did call! Could I leave him there?"

She put a hand over her eyes, dropped the wash cloth, looked me full in the face and planted a tear streaked kiss on my mouth. She broke it off and went on, "Oh Martin, if I'd lost you…" she blubbered into my ear.

"Sh, sh." I murmured back "It's ok now. It got sorted."

She laughed and sniffled at the same time. "You _are_ picking up some Cornish! Now about your hair, it smells quite dreadful."

"Does it matter?"

Her eyes shone as she said, "No."

So by careful steps she helped my battered frame to the bed, where dressed in the pyjamas I left here last week, we shut off the lights. Lying in bed with Louisa arrayed across next to me, I had some time to think about my 'trip' to Port Ismay that somewhat twin of Port Wenn.

Louisa quickly nodded off, and I should have as well, but with the gentle sounds of her breathing, there was not a snore amongst many a breath. Louisa's clock now read 3:27 AM, and my breathing was now somewhat normal, the occasional bit of nasty stuff in my bronchi pretty much unhindering my breathing, although the odd wheeze or two did come out.

But it was Tuesday morning? But the car crash, the one that did not happen, was Monday evening! The patients I'd seen the next morning, borrowing that marvelous Ferrari and the trip to see Aunty Joan, the odd meeting with Pauline at the school, all figments of an oxygen starved brain! There was not a bit of it that rung true.

The fire was Monday night, Louisa confirmed that on the ride back to the village. My car was intact she claimed, parked next to the surgery cottage. So no PC Tishell, Joe and Al were not step-brothers, Pauline was not the head-teacher of the school, and Louisa, I squeezed her just to be sure, was not my clerk in the Port Wenn surgery. And I thanked God that it was Louisa I was 'carrying on with' and not Pauline Lamb!

Aunty Joan was just as short of money as usual, down to one chicken coop, I surmised and I was quite sure that her farmhouse needed a good fixing up, the posh kitchen having receded into the odd rear corners of my brain. Although, there might be something to 'Jonathon's' idea of letting the hens pick though the grass and dirt, grazing as it were. I'll have to mention that to Joan. It shouldn't be that hard to rig up some sort of enclosure that could be moved from place to place.

But why Port Ismay? I'd not felt any real connection to the place. I didn't think this was some strange escape attempt, if it was, it was totally Bodmin, as there were any number of places, I'd rather be.

Places, pehaps. Louisa snored softly and she scooted nearer to me. If I had to pick a name for that odd village, why not Port Dismay, as it was the only really solid emotion I felt there? It felt like I'd spent an entire day and night in that village, but it all passed, apparently, in a few minutes of actual honest to goodness Port Wenn time.

All the bangs and bumps, the headache, fuzzy vision, the purple nail beds, coughing and shortness of breath were all symptoms of a knock on the head, bad fall, smoke inhalation and towards the end, anoxia, a shortness of oxygen to my brain and body.

And as for my fevered thoughts, especially when driving the red mid-engine sports car, of being a private investigator, or pi – well that was a total flop. I failed that game of Diagnosis 101 flat out. I couldn't even slow down and take the time to see through the fog that engulfed me.

So to Martin, pi I bid a not so fond farewell. May he rest easily in what ever village he might be.

Louisa snuggled close, her slender arm over my chest with her head next to my shoulder. I turned and kissed her forehead.

"Martin?" she spoke; startled. "Are you ok? Anything wrong?"

I breathed deeply and let it out slowly. I took another and smiled in the darkness of the red and white bedroom of my fiancé. "No, Louisa, everything is quite alright."

- The End –

_So as Doc Martin does not ride off in the sunset in a red sports car, I'll just say, thanks for reading and indulging my telling of this quirky tale. Thank you as well for all the nice comments and tips along the way._

_Regards,_

_Rob_


End file.
